


Shadows of the Leaf

by QuinsValoria



Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 18:16:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuinsValoria/pseuds/QuinsValoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One shots based on the life and thoughts of different Naruto characters. I may later expand them into full stories.</p>
<p>First: Midori(OFC) of the ROOT ANBU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadows of the Leaf

Midori sat on her designated seat as usual, eating her plain soba and green tea like she did every day.

As she raised her head to drink, she carefully avoided looking at the rows upon rows of blank faces that would greet her. She was newer than them; she had only been in training for four years, since she was three.

She envied them. For all her skill and prowess, she had never been able to perfect the blank mask that they wore constantly. Her roommate had once told her it was because her eyes were so expressive; they smiled, even when the rest of her couldn’t. She was sure that the only reason she wasn’t killed or retrained was because of her first generation Kekai-Genkai. She could hear and process sound in a way that was commonly compared to the Sharingan of the Uchiha, and then mimic the sound perfectly. It didn’t matter if the sound was normally impossible to create, as she hadn’t found a single sound she was unable to replicate.

It was for this reason that she was trained for stealth and infiltration; a few hours with a person, and she could perfectly imitate that person’s speech. She was taught many different jutsu to change her appearance, none of which needed constant chakra flow to hold, nor could they be dispelled like the other genjutsu she knew. To change height, body shape, skin color, and once, gender.

 She calmly stood up, ignoring the eyes that suddenly snapped to her form, before they went back to silently eating or signing to the other trainees; the only form of speech allowed in the cafeteria.

She moved to the front counter and turned in her dishes. The Shinobi on duty nodded sharply at her, and handed her a pre-made bento for her lunch that day. That was how it worked at ROOT. Breakfast was taken in the communal dining hall, as was dinner. Lunch was taken whenever you weren’t training, in your room, or in one of the training grounds with the other free trainees and instructors.

Her thoughts drifted to her schedule for that day. She had logged two of her ten hours of freestyle training time for just after breakfast that day. In ROOT, you were allowed a certain amount of freedom in what you chose to learn. You were made to go to the library every week and pick out three different technique scrolls. You were given ten hours every week to work on them. At the end of the week, you had to either show an instructor one of those jutsu, or one you created. Failure to do so was cause for punishment.

She flinched internally. She had been punished once, when she had first arrived. She didn’t like remembering that incident.

As she left the dining hall, she pulled her mask down. As it touched her face, a number appeared on the white forehead: the number seven.

Every year, the trainees were evaluated. They were assigned numbers based on skill, one being most skilled in the group. Those numbers were used as codenames during training. It made things more impersonal. no names or faces to remember when they're gone. The numbers one through ten were often called on as tutors or instructors assistants during demonstrations. They could also be called to teach in their own fields of study. She herself had once taught a few classes on healing ninjutsu and their uses in combat. While not her first choice, chakra scalpels were extremely useful, and she had _way_ too much fun stabbing people with Senbon.

Arriving at her destination, she placed a hand on her door and sent a small pulse of chakra into the invisible seal above the door handle. A small _hiss_ signified that the trap was neutralized. She opened the door quickly; intensely aware that ten seconds later, several thousand volts of electricity would charge the handle itself.

She smirked almost inperceptibly behind her mask. She had also taught an advanced class on seals in trap-making. That, too, had been _way_ too much fun.


End file.
